My Oh My!
by reiimuu
Summary: Thanks to Elizaverta, her camcorder, ill timing, pixies and blackmail, Arthur gets sent to the school counsellor - only Ivan is scariest person Arthur's ever met. It can only go downhill from there. :Belarus/Russia/England, human names used, AU:
1. o1

**My Oh My!  
**Chapter One

* * *

"So, what brings you here?"

Arthur Kirkland could only stare, mouth shut, unable to speak. This was quite rare for the (overly) opinionated Brit, who had a scathing response for almost everything. And confusion wasn't a look that best suited Arthur; it was very, very weird for him not be scowling, or frowning, or looking generally displeased.

"Eh? Cat got your tongue?"

"U-um…" Arthur stuttered hesitantly – then winced.

He sounded pathetic, like some shy, adoring fangirl who'd bumped into her crush whilst doing the grocery shopping and was struck dumb for words, looking at her feet, blushing.

This described Arthur's whole situation to a tee, minus the 'girl' part (Arthur was a gentleman, and that would never change no matter how many times Elizaverta, the deranged lunatic that she was, tried to force him into pretty dresses). Oh, and Arthur hadn't been doing grocery shopping, nor had he bumped into his 'crush'.

He didn't have a crush.

Nobody at Hetalia High had caught his attention in such a way; the only people that stuck out in Arthur's mind were the ones that really, really pissed him off, like Gilbert and Francis.

_Especially Francis._

But Arthur (no matter how he tried to deny it) was struck dumb, was lost for words, was looking at his feet, and blushing perhaps wasn't the right word, because his face looked like a bloody tomato.

Curses! inner-Arthur swore. Sometimes, he really, really hated his pale complexion, which made his flushed cheeks all the more prominent.

It wasn't exactly emasculating.

Neither were the bloody dresses.

"Why don't you have a seat? We can talk about whatever's troubling you! It's my job, after all. Ehehe~"

Numbly, like a robot, Arthur crossed the sparsely furnished room. It was very white. White walls, white curtains, white carpet. It made him think of snowdrifts and winter, and how Peter would pester him to make snowmen and go sledding and how his younger brother actually expected him to kneel down in the cold and wet to ball up bits of over glorified crystalline water ice and get frostbite in his fingers and throw it at people as though it was actually fun. Snow ball fights – perhaps the stupidest things invented ever since 'How to Speak French' was translated into French.

As if anybody would want to speak French, anyway.

Of course, Arthur was a gentleman, and he would never demean himself in such a way to actually participate in a snowball fight.

Not ever, ever, ever, in a million-zillion years.

Not even when Peter threatened to put his history homework in the paper shredder or auction his Union Jack print underwear on e-Bay.

Not even then.

Still staring at the (white) floor, Arthur took a seat.

"Why won't you look at my face? I'm not that scary, da?"

It was only then, when Arthur (hesitantly) lifted his gaze to the man behind the desk, he realised. Of course, he had known all along, but now he was left in no doubt that this wasn't some bizarre dream.

He was actually in a physiatrists' office.

Him! Arthur Kirkland! The most calm, collected, level-headed student in the whole of Hetalia High! The idea was almost unthinkable.

Maybe Elizaverta needed help, what with her ungodly obsession for 'boys' love' (as she called it) and that secret stash of X-rated comics she kept under bed.

But not Arthur.

And yet, Arthur thought darkly, it was _him_ sat on that stupid chair in that stupid office twiddling his thumbs and staring at the stupid, creepy, blank-faced physiatrist before him with the empty smile and the dead eyes and the cold demeanour that sent shivers running down the Brit's spine. Not Elizaverta.

Of course, this eerie man wasn't a real psychiatrist. He was only a high school counsellor.

But they were similar sort of things. Too similar for Arthur's liking.

The name-plate on the desk before him read 'Ivan Braginski', but this didn't tell Arthur one jot about the dead-eyed man. What really informed Arthur as to Ivan's personality was the deranged look on his face, only partially hidden by an insincere smile.

_Maybe he's planning to bludgeon me to death with a lead pipe. Would it be polite to look at least a tad surprised if such an eventuality arises?_

"Good! I can see your face now, hehe." With that laughter, waves and waves of creepiness began radiating off the older man. Arthur moved back in his chair, pressed against the upholstery. "So, do you need my help? I'm good at helping out, you know!~"

"Help me by never looking at me again!!!"

-

…Is what Arthur would have liked to say.

Instead, he forced a half-smile, and began picking at some loose thread on his trousers. Normally, he would scold people for fidgeting (it was very distracting), but under the gaze of Ivan, it was hard to stop himself.

"I…" he said, after a pause. His voice sounded weak and fearful. He shook his head, and tried again. "There's nothing wrong with me."

"So why are you here?"

Arthur's mouth thinned into a line. His eyes narrowed.

Now, that was interesting story. 'Interesting' meaning embarrassing, demanding and disturbing. An epic tale of great proportions, which involved Elizaverta, her camcorder, ill timing, pixies and blackmail.

"I don't want to talk about it," said Arthur, after a sizable pause. He folded his arms, pouting. Of course, if one were to tell Arthur he was pouting, he would shake his head and deny the fact – pouting all the while, lips pursed, cheeks flushed (of course, he'd deny he was blushing, too, even whilst his face glowed like a red traffic light. Because Arthur was that kind of person.)

"But I _want _to hear about what you have to say," beamed Ivan – smilesmilesmile, like somebody from a Disney film.

Yet behind his icy charm there seemed to be something much darker.

Arthur's rage dissipated. It was replaced with fear – which, he told himself, was fuelled by mere assumptions and baseless paranoia. And yet… His 'sixth sense' had never lied to him before.

Trying not to look conspicuous, Arthur pushed his chair back a few feet.

"U-um… I wouldn't be here at all if it weren't for Elizaverta. And you shouldn't listen to a word she says, it's all rubbish!"

"But even so," sighed Ivan. With that one sigh, Arthur felt his body tense up, "you seem troubled. Maybe we should schedule regular appointments, if you feel you are having problems…?"

_Oh God no._

_I'm going to_ kill_ Elizaverta. I'll hang her up from the ceiling by her eyelids and push pins into every square centimetre of her body! Or maybe I should burn her? Would she count as a 'witch'?_

…Maybe I should just hire Vash to do it.

"You see, I'm very interested in how the students of this school feel." The creeper smile on Ivan's was growing by the second, until it seemed ready to curve round the back of his head. Like a zipper, with gleaming toothpaste-advert teeth.

"W-why?" Arthur battled to keep his voice steady, to remain calm. To sit there like a man and not, for the love of God, not, hightail it out of the room like a complete pansy.

Smile, smile.

Smirk?

Oooh, this was _bad_.

"Because…" Ivan's voice dropped to little more than a whisper, but Arthur was able to hear every word. A truly dark look spread across his features, one more terrible than anything Arthur had ever seen in his whole life – and he'd some quite disturbing spectacles in his time. "I want to see their lives get screwed over. One by one. They'll all learn. They'll all learn. Kolkolkol~"

Arthur had just enough time to appreciate that he'd found someone terrifying enough to haunt his nightmares for years and years to come.

And then he ran.

* * *

**a.n:** Ahahaha! I only started this… strange thing… because I had a random idea of Russia being a psychiatrist, and being all 'I only took this job to laugh at miserable, pathetic people! Kolkolkol!" And I was amused XDDD So, yea. This was born xD  
It doesn't have a real plot at the moment thougghhh. It was written on a whim. So if you guys have any ideas on what should happen, please review (hintyhintyhintXD) and give me a hand here??? I'd like to hear your suggestions! I'll give you credit if I used anyway xDD

Anddd I totally want the pairing to be Russia/England. Fo sho. Because I love it =3 But I want to add Belarus in here somewhere, too! X3 But idk.  
Ideas plz? :3 Can I has?

Read, review, relax!  
reiimuu~~


	2. o2

**My Oh My!  
**Chapter Two

* * *

His eyes were wide and nervous. Shallow breaths came out in short gasps; inhale and exhale, inhale and exhale… But it was too hard.

(_It shouldn't have been that hard_.)

The air was unclean. It smelt of rotten flesh and burnt skin, scarred and seared with ugly red welts.

He choked. Breathed in that putrid smell.

His surroundings were dark, ominously so. The windows were nailed shut with wooden boards. Moonlight filtered through the cracks and gaps in harsh lines; it sliced across the dust-caked floor, illuminating odd, disfigured shapes – huddled into themselves, sprawled on the ground.

People…?

He gulped, averting his gaze. It was foolish to worry about such things. Foolish to worry about the bodies. They were the least of his worries. Especially whilst they weren't moving.

His steady footfalls contrasted with the wildly erratic beat of her heart – the pounding of blood in his head – the white spots dancing in front of his vision and the bile rising in his throat.

He felt sick. Sick to the stomach. To the very core of his being.

But he had to keep going, he had to keep going.

Get it together. Get it together. Get it together.

_Creak._

He paused, hairs rising at the back of her neck. His hands shook. Eyes widened further, pupils tiny pin-pricks in a sea of milky white.

Slowly, slowly, he turned about-

-

And a terrible scream split the air.

* * *

"…Shit," swore Elizaverta, once more displaying her elegant, ladylike personality. "I _lost_. That really sucks. I was totally ready for that monster, too! I had my gun out and everything." She yawned,, stretching; arms raised, knuckles clenched. Her spine popped, sliding back into place – and, urgh, that sounded painful.

Not that Arthur cared.

He stared at the flickering TV screen dully, green eyes narrowed. The words 'GAME OVER' were splashed across an image of Elizabeth's character being mauled by zombies.

Yes. She had been playing a zombie game. A zombie game with a truly lacklustre storyline, flat characters and lame sound effects. Overall, Arthur would have given it -2 out of 10 – and he was being lenient.

Maybe his judgement was being clouded, however, by his bad mood.

…Either way, Arthur had never liked video games. He found them completely pointless; especially when there were more important things to do, like studying.

Studying was good.

Had he not missed his bus due to his 'appointment' with Ivan, he could have been at home now, studying. Instead, he had (unwillingly) gone home with Elizaverta, and was waiting there until a later bus arrived.

But that didn't mean he had to enjoy himself. Or appreciate Elizaverta's hospitality.

It was her fault he had missed his bus to begin with.

"Do you want a go, Arthur?" asked Elizaverta, gesturing towards the TV.

"No."

"Awwww~" she began to giggle. Walking over towards Arthur, who was perched primly on the edge of her bed with a haughty look on his face, she began to prod at his cheeks. Arthur batted her hands away. And she began again, undeterred.

"C-cut that out!" Arthur cried, balking at the unwanted contact.

Elizaverta ignored him.

In a moment of weakness, Arthur's gentlemanly façade slipped. Deftly, he grabbed a pillow, and chucked full-force at his 'friend's' (and he used the term loosely. Very, verryyy loosely) undeniably pretty face.

-

She caught it perfectly.

Bugger!

Foiled again.

"Artie, stop acting like such a bitch."

Arthur's face flushed.

"I'm not," he retorted childishly, folding his arms. "You're the whiney one, not me."

"On the contrary! You're," she prodded Arthur's nose, "the one who's succhhh a negative, pessimistic bitch about everything that he has to see a counsellor! Not me! Hahahahaha!" She was so happy, she seemed to be sparkling. Arthur stared her down, eyes narrowed.

"Yes. I saw the counsellor." Arthur inhaled. His left eye began to twitch sporadically. "And who's bloody fault is that?!"

"Don't get mad at me! I was trying to help you!"

"I don't need help! _You're _the one who needs help! You're the one who likes this stuff!" Arthur broke off. Pushing himself off Elizaverta's bed (which was red, white, and green; the colours of the Hungarian flag, respectively), he shoved his fingers in the small gap underneath the bed and floor. He did so with impossibly fast movements; mad pirate ninja skillz that would leave a professional thief green with jealously.

Elizaverta had literally no time to stop him.

With a cry of 'aha!' Arthur extracted his fingers, gasping a stack of doujinshi and manga in ond hand. They had similar titles, all of which included the words 'love' or 'hot' or 'naughty', and very similar covers. Two boys, no clothes, and a multitude of poses.

Arthur flushed at the more graphic ones.

W-was that even _physically possible_?

And people _enjoyed it_???

Suddenly, his curious eyes snagged on something disturbing.

"Is that _Feliciano and Ludwig_???" he asked, stabbing one finger at a doujinshi cover. It sported two eerily familiar people, in such a suggestive pose it made Arthur's skin crawl. "Did you make this?!"

Elizaverta fumed.

"H-hey, what about _this _one?! Is this meant to be you? And our math tea-"

But Arthur never managed to finish. A sharp burst of pain split through his skull; a galaxy of stars exploded before his eyes; white spots drunkenly swarmed his vision. He felt sick.

Was this what dying felt like?

Jesus Christ on a crumpet, that **hurt**!!!

"They're collector's items!!!" yelled Elizaverta, wielding a… frying pan? Where did _that_ come from? "You can't touch them! I won't allow it!"

Arthur felt his

"But you know…" said Elizaverta, voice no longer manic and insane. In fact, she seemed to be smiling – though Arthur could barely see through his pain and misery. "I really did want to help you, Arthur. You've seemed different lately. Like, kind of sad?"

"…Sad? I'm not…"

"You are. You've been all mopey and borrrinnggg for _ages_. So I thought, it might be good if you could spoke to somebody about how you feel!"

_Talk to _Ivan _about how I feel?_

_Yeah, right._

_Perhaps hell would care to freeze over first._

A demented smile crossed Elizaverta's lips; one that instantly made Arthur feel uneasy. He wondered if he should grab another pillow, just to be safe.

"**And** I think you're sad because you've never had a girlfriend!!!"

And of course, Arthur's cheeks (immediately) began to blister and burn cherry-tomato red.

"I… I'm not… N-not…" Arthur tried to glower – which wasn't exactly impressive, considering he looked (and felt) like a lovelorn girl. "Don't make up stuff that isn't true! I'm **perfectly fine**! I don't commission Francis to draw my erotic fantasies- s-stop laughing!!! I'm being serious!"

To begin with, Elizaverta had been snorting to herself, trying to muffle the noise politely. At the end of Arthur's tirade, however, she was clutching her middle, cheeks as flushed as Arthur's, laughing like a hyena. In books, weren't women meant to laugh like wind chimes and bells?

"W-what? I wasn't being funny," said Arthur huffily.

"I know! But there's something incredibly hilarious about you – you, of all people! – saying 'erotic fantasies' so seriously, in that British accent!"

"Get screwed, Elizaverta! I hate you!"

* * *

**a.n: **ahahahaha exams suck.  
I hate studying -_- I'm no good at it, and I get bored, and my grades don't improve even when I do it!!! i'm all halp plzz D:  
Um, yeaa. I'm an awful, awful person. i'm sorry for taking so long.  
there is no excuse.  
Enjoy the sparkly new chapter?

Review? (＊´∀｀＊)

Ohhh, & thinking of writing something incredibly bizarre w/ liechtenstein and canada going on a great adventure. and england is some kind of omega epic fairy… xDDDD yeaa. and ukraine is in there somewhere too. anyone interested? xDD i have /weird/ ideas. mmmmyup.


	3. o3

**My Oh My!  
**Chapter Three

* * *

Sometimes, Arthur thought he'd been born under an unlucky star. It was the only logical explanation for his life; which was, at that moment, spiralling out of his control very, very quickly.

He'd never been quite satisfied with his life, what with almost single-handedly bringing up his brother and having a 'friend' like Elizaverta, who liked beating people over the head with blunt objects for no real reason (haha. And **he** was the one stood outside Ivan's office now because **he** needed a counsellor?)

But at least life had been bearable.

Certainly liveable.

But not now.

Now, the current situation was so bad Arthur was in actual fear of his life. Or, at the very least, his sanity. The one thing that prevented him stabbing a fork in his eye was the fact that, urgh, that was over-dramatic and overblown, and only an idiotic attention-seeking prat like Francis would do such a thing, and anyway he wasn't worried, not at all, hahaha-

"Hey, Iggy! You okay?!"

Arthur jumped violently, nearly tripping over his own feet. He had to steady himself against the wall. Breathing in and out slowly – for a few split seconds his lungs had constricted – he tried to calm himself.

"Whoa! Over-reaction much?! I know I'm awesome, but _geez_ – I thought I'd given you a heart attack! Hahaha!"

Laughter.

It was really bloody hard to calm down when he was being laughed at; by Alfred F. Jones, no less.

Arthur felt his cheeks flush.

"G-g-get lost!" he hissed, trying to sound intimating.

"I was worried about you, Iggy! I mean, you're so _old_~ What if my amazing-ness gave you a stroke?"

…Yeah.

The intimidation thing wasn't working too well.

Probably because his face was still red, like a sunburnt strawberry.

Arthur sighed, praying Alfred – his part-time friend, most-of-the-time annoying pest who inadvertently got into everyone's way and generally made a nuisance of himself – would leave. At the same time, he wondered if he could channel some of Ivan's frightening spirit. It'd help getting rid of the over-enthusiastic American.

"_Sooooo_," began Alfred.

And then he stopped.

Silence.

Arthur could feel the other's gaze metaphorically pin him to the wall. It was relentless; in fact, the American wasn't even blinking. It was a little off-putting.

More than a little.

Within a few seconds, Arthur felt himself tense up. The gaze was uncomfortable; it was making him uneasy. His resolve to stand strong cracked.

"Will you stop doing that!" he shouted, turning about sharply and folding his arms.

"Doing what?"

"Staring."

"Am I?" Alfred sounded genial enough, but Arthur could hear the laughter behind his 'innocent' words; he was being a git, as always, trying to mess around with Arthur's head or something.

"Why are you even here?" snapped Arthur crabbily. "Shouldn't you be eating, or…" he faltered, trying to think of something the blond would find amusing. "Eating?"

Alfred pouted. "I do stuff other than _eat_, Iggy."

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"Da~mn. Elizaverta's right, you are a bitch sometimes."

"Why. Are. You. Here. Alfred?" Arthur hissed through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to strangle his self-proclaimed 'friend'. Or 'buddy', as Alfred liked to say.

"Because. I'm. Bored. Arthur," replied Alfred, imitating the other; arms folded, eyes narrowed.

"Don't be facetious!"

"I can't. I dunno what that means." Alfred beamed. He was doing a very good impression of an idiot; which was funny, because he was an idiot.

Sheesh.

"To be honest, Arthur…"

Now, this did catch Arthur off guard.

He actually sounded serious.

"I think you look kind of lonely, stood out here all on your ownsome. Need someone to talk to?"

Unsure of how to deal with the suddenly, surprisingly sincere Alfred, Arthur said nothing. Nothing expect, "Humph", which wasn't even a word. Arthur mused; it was strange how he could write eloquently in English, but when it came to dealing with people, his vocabulary shrank to a strange assortment of grunting noises, a few 'meep's and an array of curses.

"Why are you stood outside here, anyway?" asked Alfred. His voice dropped to a low whisper; "Ivan's completely _insane_. You should treat your health more seriously!"

"Who are _you_ to lecture _me _about being _serious_?"

Alfred smiled hopefully. "Your friend?"

"Dream on."

"You know you love me too~!"

"You are absolutely _insufferable_!"

"Ehh. Stop using such big words. It's making my head hurt!"

"Bugger off."

"Mmmnope. Don't think I will. Not until you tell me what you're doing out here – I'm all curious now!" Alfred's eyes lit up, like a kid on Christmas opening his presents. He'd had a sudden brainwave. "Are you trouble?! Do you need _help_, Iggy?"

Arthur had his mouth open, ready to make some snappy retort – but at the word 'help', he froze, lips parted into an 'o' of surprise. His face blanched.

Alfred blinked in confusion. "W-what? _Really_?!"

The shorter boy winced.

"Seriously?"

At this, Arthur's facial muscles began to thaw out. Eyebrows furrowed, he said; "I'm always serious." And then he scowled. "Bloody hell…"

"H-hey, Iggy! I was just joking, but… Whoa. I knew you were cranky and old-fashioned n' stuff, but you're not _**insane**_, right?"

"Don't be daft, of course not," said Arthur firmly. "It's all Elizaverta's fault, poking her nose into other people's business… A bit like you, actually."

But the barbed comment rolled right off Alfred, like water off a duck's back. He hadn't noticed it – or maybe hadn't understood its implications.

You couldn't be subtle around Alfred. You had to shout at him so loud his ears bled before anything would penetrate his thick skull; and even then, he'd probably just forget it five seconds later. There was no point even trying.

Arthur resisted the urge to slap a palm against his forehead.

All of a sudden, a voice penetrated the air-

"_I'm sorry, Ivan! I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have bothered you like thiiiiIiiiiIiIiisss!"  
_

-and there was a loud slam.

**Crunch!**

"Fuck!"

A galaxy of stars exploded before Arthur's eyes, rendering him blind, helpless. His face was on **fire**, searing and burning and just plain _hurting_ like it'd never hurt before - apart from maybe that one time when he was five and Elizaverta had pushed him so hard on the swings he nearly looped the bar on the top. Needless to say, he fell off and broke his leg and Elizaverta laughed.

It was then, as Arthur was taken to the hospital, that he came to a horrible conclusion (especially for a five-year-old): _I have shitty friends and the world's out to get me._

That harrowing philosophy was firmly in place now.

Arthur liked to think he fell rather gracefully.

Alfred's laughter told him otherwise.

"HAHAHAHA! You just got_ TOTALLY_ **OWNED** by that door! That's so funny! Jesus, Iggy, you should've seen your face! Hahahaha! You're such an IDIOT!"

"Alfred. You're. NOT. Helping." Arthur snarled, his face twisting into a half-embarrassed, half 'I-want-to-pin-you-up-by-your-eyelids-and-watch-you-die-slowly' expression – whatever that would look like. His threat was punctuated, however, by him turning to spit out a mouthful of blood onto the floor.

_Urgh_.

Arthur wrinkled up his nose, disgusted with himself. Such a thing was so improper! …But his mouth wouldn't. Stop.** Bleeding**.

With a grunt of pain, the poor Brit staggered to his feet, zombie-like, completely off balance, room still spinning, lip still bleeding. The blood had, somehow, without his knowledge, dripped onto his white school shirt, staining it garishly.

Oh, great.

"Hahaha…ha…" Alfred's laughter died somewhat, as Arthur's glare became more malicious. It was a look that plainly said 'don't mess with me or I'll sneak into your room at night and put a firecracker in your liver' – at least, to Alfred. "Sorry, man. But that was pretty hilarious."

Arthur's voice was cold. "I'll bet."

"Yeah! You fell flat on your ass!" And any attempts Alfred had made of being tactful had flown straight out of the window. He bit his lower lip, trying not to laugh.

And failed.

Miserably.

"S-shut up!" cried Arthur, face heating up. "You fucking wanker! I-it's not funny!"

"Pshhhhh. That's a **lie** and you know it."

"U-um…" a soft voice (obviously not Alfred, who only had two volumes: loud, and louder) interjected, which had hitherto been unnoticed by the arguing pair. It was shaking. "T-that was m-my fault, I-I mean, I, um… A-Are you okay? I-I'm sorry… I d-d-didn't mean to do that!"

It was a girl.

Well… Her _face_ was certainly girl-ish, but the rest of her body…

That chest just didn't seem to match that young face.

Her blouse was even missing a button.

Maybe term girl-woman would be more fitting, then?

Arthur had no idea where to look. The floor? But that would surely look rude. Her face? But then his eyes would automatically get sucked towards her cleavage, like planets and stars are sucked into a black hole.

Well, this was nice and awkward.

Oh, and his stupid nose was still bleeding.

Alfred, at least, was more direct about his feelings. He whistled under his breath, and muttered – so only Arthur could hear – "duuuude, she's hot."

"Katerina, are you okay?" an all-too-familiar voice said. Sure, it _sounded_ benign, but underneath that apparent calm lurked something icy cold; it made Arthur shiver.

At the sudden appearance of Ivan, Alfred's face blanched. He turned to Arthur, smiled pleasantly – a smile that clearly said 'you're on your own, buddy' – and left, trying to walk as quickly as possible without looking suspicious or cowardly. Arthur knew, if he were to ask Alfred about this later, he'd make up some excuse like 'noo, I wasn't **scared**! I just remembered that, uh… My cat's having babies! Yeah! You know you thought Tony was a guy? Well, there's a funny story about that…'

"I-I'm okay," said Katerina, smiling at Ivan – apparently, she was braver than she looked. "I'll see you later, yes?"

All of a sudden, Arthur felt a strange, irrational urge to cry out to retreating back of Katerina, for she was the only buffer between him and Ivan and if she left…

Arthur didn't even want to **think** about.

"Well, Arthur~" Ivan said. His tones were cheerful enough, but looks could be deceiving. "I suppose it's just us two, da?"

"…"

"Oh, and by the way. Your nose is bleeding."

Arthur suddenly felt very alone in the world.

* * *

**a.n:** When I try to write I keep thinking 'this won't turn out very well' or 'it sucks! I fail! DD:' and I kind of thought about deleting this story, because it's making my head hurt xD But then I said 'no! I'll persevere!' C: So I hope you like it.  
Even though it takes me 347390473 years to update, ffffff. I'm a bad person D:  
This story still kind of doesn't have a plot, though XD I'll just see where it takes me~ Shalala~  
Read, review, relax  
(^_^)


	4. o4

**My Oh My!  
**Chapter Four

* * *

"My, that's quite terrible… There's so much blood," said Ivan conversationally.

"Mnghh," Arthur made a weird, muffled noise in reply.

Normally, Arthur was a stickler for proper grammar and, as he liked to call it, correct English. As such, the exasperated Brit was _constantly _berating Alfred for his god-awful speaking habits; "What do you mean, 'we don't gotta'?" Arthur would reiterate, glaring daggers at the American. "If you insist on butchering the English language with your Americanisms, then at least do it in a way that makes grammatical sense."

In short, it was very, very, _very_ rare for Arthur to speak a single sentence that didn't contain a proper subject and predicate. And if _that_ was rare, hell was more likely to freeze over than Arthur was to speak a single-word sentence that's lonesome, pathetic 'word' wasn't even a real word at all.

And yet, maddeningly, _frustratingly_, those one-word non-sentences were the only things Arthur could choke out whenever he was around Ivan.

God, forget _talking_ – at that precise moment Arthur was finding it difficult to breathe.

Of course, that may have had something to do with his bloody nose. It was so red, it seemed impossible to think Arthur had ever had a nose at all; rather, the gaudy blood made one think of a giant crater, or some hideous bullet-wound.

Arthur could only thank high heaven (not that he was religious. Any religious thoughts of 'peace on Earth' had all but clean left his mind the day he'd been forced to sit next to Francis during sex education) that he wasn't one to swoon at the sight of blood. That would just be_ unfair_, considering his nervous-reflex blushing reaction, too. To also faint upon glimpsing a mere drop of blood would be enough to cement his reputation as 'the most girly guy ever.'

"Would you like a tissue?" asked Ivan sweetly, gesturing towards the box on his desk.

Shortly following the door-meet-face incident, Arthur had been ushered in Ivan's whitewashed office (whereupon instant vibes of 'creepy', mixed with the odd splashes of panic and terror, were instantly sprung upon the poor boy the second his foot hit the threshold), and proffered a seat.

The seat, like the rest of the office, was white.

Arthur had, upon coming to this realisation, grown quite worried he'd start bleeding on everything, and somehow invoke 'The Wrath of Ivan'.

Blood was so terribly hard to wash out of upholstery.

Honestly, though… Why decorate a room in white, of all colours? It was draining and depressing, and made Arthur think of snowdrifts.

Then again, it matched Ivan's nature _perfectly_.

His office was a stunning example of 'art imitating life'.

"T-thank you," Arthur stuttered, reaching for a white (ha. Of course) tissue. He held it to his nose, feeling somewhat grateful.

That is, until Ivan said; "Of course, I expect something in return…"

Arthur froze.

At the speed of light, his mind began reeling off numerous possibilities (although, with a guy like Ivan, it was hard to know what he'd say). His request could've been anything from 'please get out, I'm sick of the sight of you' or even 'do everyone a favour and kill yourself; death is only way to true happiness~'

Oh damn, now Arthur was creeping himself out.

At the stony look of petrified terror on Arthur's face, Ivan began to laugh – or, should we say, _giggle_. Whatever it was, the childish noise was enough to make the dead roll over in their graves

"I don't want to think about what you're imaging," said Ivan pleasantly (and his voice was sunny and happy and lovely and wrong), "but I'm not going to ask for anything bad… Honestly, what would I want with a tiny, useless child like yourself, da? Haha~ How ridiculous…"

Suddenly, unwittingly, Arthur's malfunctioning brain dredged up those terrible, degrading 'comics' under Elizaverta's bed (had Elizaverta been privy to that thought, she would've slapped Arthur over the back of his head with her frying pan and screamed 'PRICELESS WORKS OF ART! NOT 'TERRIBLE COMICS'!' It was a good job not hide nor hair of Elizaverta could be found in Ivan's office; between her ill temper and Ivan's general… Ivan-ness… Arthur would probably have staked himself through the chest with a pencil after five seconds).

Hahaha. 'What would I want with you?', indeed.

Arthur squirmed in his chair.

"Anyway~" sang Ivan, jabbing his index finger in the air. It hovered somewhere between Arthur's eyes. "Do you remember that young girl you saw? Blonde hair, blue eyes…?"

A nod.

"You know her?"

"Not personally." Arthur's voice sounded horribly nasally, due to the tissue pressed against it. However, Arthur was secretly quite thankful he'd managed to say two real words in the correct order to care how stupid his voice sounded.

"Hmn. I should hope not." A frown. Ivan's face had darkened considerably, until he looked quite demonic. "Considering she's my sister. And if anybody harms her, they will be very, very sorry indeed…" During this terrifying exchange, Ivan's voice had grown steadily deeper, and he began to lean across the table.

Arthur shifted back uneasily.

"Um…"

All of a sudden, Ivan seemed to catch hold of himself. He blinked. With another light-hearted giggle, he leant back in his chair.

"I'm sorry~" he said, smiling. "I don't know what came over me. Maybe it's the heat. It's hot this time of year, da?"

Arthur was shivering; be it from the glacial interior of Ivan's office, or the glacial presence of the man himself. But he thought it best to agree with him. It was common sense not to question anyone who could decapitate you with their bare hands, and Arthur wasn't a fool.

"Um, I suppose so?"

"I thought so too. But, I'm going off subject!"

"…Yes?" Arthur prompted. He was trying very hard to keep the tremor out of his voice. Such things were not manly – instead, they were terribly embarrassing.

_Although, on the bright side_, Arthur thought, _if I can talk to _this guy _without stuttering, then dealing with Alfred should be a walk in the park._

…_That is, if I live to ever see Alfred again. Which is beginning to look less and less likely._

"Katerina came to see me. She's rather upset… You see, I have been very busy lately, due to a young girl who attends this school," said Ivan, casting his eyes to the ceiling. He looked pensive; lost in thought. "She comes here for my, ah… How should I put this…? _Advice_. A little like you. People consider her 'mentally unstable', as she is prone to fits of temper and rather violent actions."

"My… She sounds simply delightful." Arthur couldn't help the twinge of sarcasm that tainted his words. He couldn't help his initial distaste, either, at being (loosely) compared to this violent, unstable, 'insane' girl.

"Mmn. She is, rather. I suppose." Ivan shrugged, impervious to the Brit's scathing words. "But I don't think she's quite that bad. I think she's lonely. You follow, da?"

Arthur nodded mutely. To be perfectly honest, he hadn't the foggiest idea where Ivan was going with this. His nose still hurt, and his nerves were on edge, and he really, really wanted to go home.

But he dared not move.

"So I began to think," Ivan continued, "maybe she needs someone to talk to? Somebody her _own_ age? I mean, it gets rather frustrating dealing with her every single day, because the other teachers don't know what to do with her. And having to talk to her every single day – it makes me sister upset. She thinks I'll get… Hmn. Stressed. About it. The girl, I mean. Haha." It was a mirthless laugh.

Arthur began picking imaginary lint of his neatly-pressed school trousers. All the while, his eyes remained fixed on Ivan, trying to look interested. The Russian man seemed to be rather agitated, for some unknown reason; once more, his words were becoming harsh and bitter.

"I was fretting and fretting over what to do with this poor soul, because my advice is not making any impact. She remains as… as _impossible_ as ever!"

It was the first time Arthur had heard Ivan speaking with such distress. Could it be, he was genuinely concerned over the welfare of this 'mystery girl X'?

But… no! Surely not.

That would completely distort Arthur's vision of the scary man.

It would be like _Francis_ deciding to pursue a career as a celibate vicar.

Or (even more shocking, still) Alfred not being a self-obsessed, immature git for more than five seconds, and not for a bet.

"So... _Arthur_."

The Arthur in question gulped.

"I decided that you should befriend this girl! Then, she will have somebody to talk to; because Katerina is becoming worried about my health and, to be absolutely honest, I'm sick of seeing that problematic girl's face every day! She's upsetting Katerina, and it's making me angry."

"…"

That outburst left Arthur in stunned silence. His eyes widened in surprise, pupils dilating; spots of tar in a vast pool of milky white. Meanwhile, his face had turned pale, like that of chalk. It was quite the striking look- almost as though he were a corpse.

Thoughts clustered Arthur's head, a giant cacophony of noise which could not pass his lips (they were pinched tightly shut);

_He wants me to do his job for him?  
He wants me to talk to this girl?  
This _violent, mentally-unstable _girl?  
This girl, who might, according to Ivan's vague description, cut off my arms with a hatchet and stick them upright in flowerpots, in her garden?  
This girl that's taking up so much of Ivan's time, it makes his sister worry?_And, the worst thought of all;

_Is Ivan _scared _of her???_

But Ivan was heedless of Arthur's inner turmoil (most likely because said turmoil was inner; Arthur hadn't done a lot to express it, other than make a few funny faces and hissing noises). Instead, he clapped his hands, and proclaimed happily, genuinely; "This is fantastic! I'm sure you'll like her – _somebody _in the world must."

Arthur's mouth began to open and close, but no sound came out.

He swallowed, shook his head, and then tried again.

"W-w-what…" _Are you doing? Do you mean? Are you resigning me to? _"…is her name?"

It wasn't the question Arthur wanted to ask (far from it), but at least it was _something_.

Ivan beamed.

"Her name is Natalia."

* * *

**a.n:** OMG O: I kind of got a plot sorted out! Hahaha XD Oh, and this chapter was soooo much fun to write~ I really got back into the 'groove' XD I'm glad I didn't delete this story, now~ Shalala~ I only read it through quickly, so I may not have caught all my mistakes. I'm sure there's a lot O///O I hope you don't think this story is too boring? It's just a lot of talktalktalk XD;; And Arthur is not doing much OX I want to keep them IC, but I think Arthur would naturally be afraid of Ivan? He needs more time to adjust to his creepy? C:  
Read, review, relax  
Reiimuu~


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